


Forged in Fire and Ice

by Iane_Casey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Boatsex, F/M, a vast amount of boatsex, currently going to be a two-shot but could be more, really good boatsex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 02:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iane_Casey/pseuds/Iane_Casey
Summary: Love was an emotion neither of them had the luxury to truly know and explore. It had come to them in different forms, in the most unconventional of circumstances. How, then, was this different, this force that was drawing them together, if it truly was love?





	1. Powerless

**Author's Note:**

> Quick thanks to Adecila and AllMyFandomWoes for the quick read last weekend! :)
> 
> This will be the prelude to my Boatsex rendition. I sincerely don't think Jon just came marching his way down to bed Daenerys with his big dick energy. I feel that something must have drawn him to her, even if it was Daenerys' words that did it. Or them meeting one another's eyes over supper. SOMETHING. 
> 
> Anywaaaay, holler if you want to read the rest- this baby is short, oh but the next one is going to be, well, long.

> 
>     You are ice and fire,
>     The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
>     You are cold and flame.
>     You are the crimson of amaryllis,
>     The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
>     When I am with you,
>     My heart is a frozen pond
>     Gleaming with agitated torches.
>     
>     
>       
>     > 
>     -Opal, Amy Lowell

"What say you of Cersei's word?" Their eyes met across the long table in the saloon, the space now clear of anyone else but Daenerys and himself.

Daenerys would have scoffed at the question. Instead she raised a brow and smirked before looking at the King in the North and telling him, "I would like to hope Tyrion knows his vile sister as he says he does, but I think very little of her word."

Jon simply nodded before trailing his gaze towards his flexing hand. Briefly he wondered if a part of Daenerys knew it could have all been for naught but intimidating the Mad Lannister with the might of her forces and arriving on dragon back. Maybe that was the sole purpose after all. He had to believe it wasn't just that, for it meant they wasted time that could have been spent doing something actually productive.

"And you?"

"I have neither faith nor hope in a Lannister's word," he murmured, tone low and accent heavy with barely restrained anger. "Least of all Cersei's."

"My Lord Hand is a Lannister," Daenerys reminded him, taking a casual sip of her wine.

Only momentarily taken by her use of his given name, Jon shrugged, not too troubled by Tyrion being her advisor, surprisingly so. His mind was still occupied by memories of the past, of the slow and tragic decimation of House Stark.

Sansa had told him the story, hauntingly sparing no detail about the moment their father's head fell from his shoulders the second Joffrey had called for it.

His poor sister had told him how she had begged Father to choose life over his honour, and how she had abhorred herself later for having done so, hearing him admit to something he had not done only to be executed anyway.

He did not have the courage to ask her more than what he already knew about what had happened after Littlefinger had taken her with him, and after she'd been taken back to Winterfell only to be violated in the place where she should have felt safest.

They had all been young and naive, himself included. He could not fault his sweet sister for the past, he himself had been broken down and split apart until the boy in him died. He wished he could have spared his siblings all the hurt they did not deserve, but it's all happened.

They have all grown up and learned, became terribly scarred, but stronger and wiser through it all.

"I was told that Eddard Stark was brave enough to leave and defy his king when he'd ordered men to have me and my brother killed," Daenerys quietly offered, hands clasped over her lap, unsure about how exactly she hoped her words made him remember his father's honour and not his death by the lions of the Rock.

"Aye, that sounds like him," Jon simply stated, humble pride and respect echoing in his words.

Daenerys watched his head lower in humility, a blossoming sensation in her chest at the sight of the smallest upturn of one side of his mouth. The action told her of a budding desire to pull more from him, these rare yet handsome smiles, maybe even laughter. The man brooded far too often for his age. It was also terribly unfortunate for his comely face to be pulled into a frown as often as it was, she mused, eyeing him from the rim of her goblet. 

A companionable silence settled over them, the cutting of the boat's hull across the sea the only sounds heard.

"If it please you, Daenerys, I would like to hear how you came to have your dragons." His head was slightly lowered in deference, wanting her to know that the option to disclose such information was entirely hers. That he would not hold it against her should she choose not to share this with him.

Daenerys' fingers wiped at some nonexistent dirt on her goblet, deliberating how and where to start, if she even should.

Would he like to hear upon whose deaths and blood her dragons hatched? Or how death had paid for life, to welcome her winged sons back to the world?

"I don't know where to begin," she told him quietly, honestly, setting her drink down on the table, eyes on her hands, before drawing up to meet his soft gaze.

The kindest of smiles graced Jon's lips, bittersweet understanding in the onyx pools that were his eyes shining through. He only knew what she'd told him when they first met and everything she'd allow him to know since, but he knew enough to know she'd gone through no small amount of hardship.

"Wherever you're most comfortable," he encouraged softly, "Here and now, Daenerys, I’m just Jon."

Would that they could merely _be_ , Daenerys thought wistfully.

With his words she unclasped her fingers, suddenly at ease, and took a deep breath. Reaching forward she took hold of her goblet, taking a long pull of wine for courage, and then looked once more to the man seated before her.

Sparing no detail, she ventured into her past, sharing with this man the heartache and pain and suffering that had led to the birthing of her dragons. It scared her, how listless her voice was as she spoke, and how detached she has become from it, her defences coming into play as a heart so broken shielded itself from the sharp stabs memories can still inflict on her.

"Four bodies I burned, mine own included, and from the soot and ashes of that great pyre four dragons emerged: my three sons and I."

It should have sounded glorious, and the sight of it had been for those who bore witness, but it wasn't, not for her.

"This was how I came to have my dragons, Jon Snow. And how I was cursed to be barren, the last of my line," she finished, looking at him with such resignment, before brushing at the back of her left hand with the pad of her right thumb. "My dragons for my husband, the son I was not even able to hold in my arms, and the maegi that had cursed me."

The air around them had become heavy with the weight of her stories, of her words laced with eerie detachment yet the slightest sliver of heartbreak.

She didn’t know if she even expected a response from him. Neither was she looking to be comforted, but it had not been easy to give voice to it all, far harder to have actually shared it with this man who has put her on a pedestal she hardly deserved to be placed upon.

“You are here, now, Daenerys Stormborn.” Goose flesh erupted across her arms, shivering at the strength of his voice. “At the forefront of two wars, first of which is bloody uncertain and hopeless, yes, but here you are before me."

He watched her pick her head up to look at him in an odd mixture of sadness and fondness, making Jon swallow thickly before he continued, standing to approach her with courage that Daenerys’ strength to confide in him had brought forth.

Daenerys sat straighter as she watched him move towards her with a fierce, proud look on his face that stoked the fire running through her veins.

Eyes of the most precious amethyst widened as Jon knelt before her, tentatively taking both hands in his. The warmth of her, the suppleness of her skin, they threatened to distract him from what was important, so he took a deep breath, collected himself, and met her gaze.

"What are you doing, Jon Snow?" Valyrian Steel laced her tone, but her hands squeezed his in kind.

"I don't recall having been able to kneel after Eastwatch," Jon quipped, before boldly pressing his lips to her knuckles.

"Jon." She was serious now, though she gasped when he’d dared touch his lips to her skin.

Truthfully, he did not know why he knelt, why he was even kissing her hands. He was lost to the call of his own heart and mind to comfort her, to draw her from her past, and remind her of all she'd gained, all she stood to right in this broken world they lived in. To make her look forward, not back.

"With your dragons and armies, you came to aid the north for a fight for the living.” Another kiss, another squeeze. With a shuddering breath he added, “And you saved me when you could have easily let me perish and conquer the north. Others would have done just that.”

There was fire in her eyes from his words, and she was about to respond, but Jon grinned coyly. “You are not like everyone else,” he echoed his own words from the Pit. “It is why you survived, why you rose to power, why you are here. It is why you are loved by those who serve you, why they follow you."

Nothing could have stopped her from closing what little distance separated them, powerless from the need to kiss him, an urge she had successfully fought off when he had first opened his eyes on the boat after Eastwatch.

Gods, she thought she’d lost him then, lost him before she could even know him better. Before she could start to feel more than she should allow herself to, and find out if he felt the same. 

Soft lips drew her back to the present, the gentle tug of plump flesh over her bottom lip causing her breath to stutter as her upper lip followed to cover his.

Bending forward she pressed her forehead to his, one hand breaking free from their hold to press fingers over the lips she’d just tasted, his wiry beard scratching her palm as deliciously as they had in their kiss. The feel of his breath upon her lips, upon her skin, made her feel things she’d thought she could no longer feel. It gripped her heart, aroused her senses, but terrified her just as equally. 

“Dany.” He closed his eyes as he called out her name, unkowingly using the name that had surprised her on the boat upon his waking.

The tip of her nose ran the length of his, basking in the serenity of his visage, eyes closed as he just felt her presence, felt her touch.

“Come to me tonight, Jon,” she breathed, no longer able to bear any distance from him lest she go mad. The yearning to feel his bare skin against hers was too great to deny, too powerful to ignore.

She was doubtful he'd heard, but he must have, for his eyes opened and she willingly drowned in pools of molten onyx.

“I am yours to take,” she added quietly, pressing a trembling palm right above his chest, the beating of his heart as rapid as hers, “If you feel the same.”


	2. Scratching the Surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never have dragons lain with wolves, but Jon wanted her more than he's ever yearned for anything in his life. Resolved, the White Wolf knocks on the Dragon Queen's door, and they are swept way by the majesty of their union.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SUCK AT SUMMARIES, HAHAH! And it's past 1 AM. 
> 
> Let me warn you now that this is NSFW AF. If this isn't your cuppa, please hoppa to your next story.
> 
> This update is for LustOnMyFingers and iAmSmall, for updating their fics, and for those nudging me for my long-ass-promised boatsex rendition. 
> 
> I certainly hope this lives up to the hype and I'm sorry if it doesn't.
> 
> A huge shoutout to Northern Lights for helping ease my fears about the smut in this. You were like a fairy godmother ready to swoop in and whoop my ass for thinking differently. 
> 
> Another shoutout to my Soft Bitches for their support and encouragement. 
> 
> I sincerely hope you like/love this. If you did, please leave a comment and let me know what you liked/what I can improve or just wax gibberish/keyboard smash if you're not wordy. 
> 
> If you didn't like it, thank you for taking the time to read still. <3

> 
>     You are ice and fire,
>     The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
>     You are cold and flame.
>     You are the crimson of amaryllis,
>     The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
>     When I am with you,
>     My heart is a frozen pond
>     Gleaming with agitated torches.  
>     > 
>     -Opal, Amy Lowell

Damned fool that he was, he had excused himself when the opportunity had presented itself.

He should have kissed her, tasted her lips once more, allowed her to wrap him in her heat.

Other men would not have thought twice.

He should have taken her then and there, wordlessly told her he felt the same, if not more. _Showed_ her.

Alas, he was not like other men.

When Davos had called for him from behind the door, he capitalised on the opportunity to escape. Begging her forgiveness, he’d walked away. The sight of her face falling in a mixture of confusion and disappointment made guilt churn within his gut.

He should have said something, at least. 

Now, back in his own cabin, he was left with his own thoughts once more, and instead of strategies and ways to go about assuring his people that they were not being conquered, he could only think of her.

Fucking fool that he was, he should have given into the need to kiss her until she forgot her long list of titles.

But no, she deserved much better.

King, he was, but a bastard he would _always_ be.

She was blind to it, or she simply did not care, but whilst that warmed and humbled him, it also made guilt choke him breathless.

_I am yours to take._

How could he when he had nothing but himself to offer?

 _His_.

He had never sought to claim anything for himself; he'd always received what was given, never _taken_ , never assumed to _claim_. 

How could that- how could _he_ be enough for a woman whose armies nearly equaled that of their foe, whose dragons put them at a near-advantage, a woman whose prospects were not so dire as having to settle for him?

Alliances required an equal amount of benefits for both parties, and all he could give her truly was his counsel and a kingdom which was barely his.

It angered him, the things he had no control over, his chest constricting as his hands flexed. The action brought forth the memory of her touch, his hand yearning somehow and the taste of her still on his lips no matter how chaste their kiss.

Her eyes, Gods, her eyes. Closing his, Jon shook his head to clear it of the memory of her, but she stayed with him like the moon overhead lighting their way, the lack of sight making way for his other senses to recall how she felt, how she tasted, and how she smelled.

Soft, sweet, and simply intoxicating.

He had initiated contact; he'd touched her first, held her hands and placed his lips upon her skin.

Had he emboldened her to then plant her lips over his?

Another flex of his hand, and the curve of her jaw, the softness of her skin came to mind. Briefly, he wondered how her hair would feel if he combed his fingers through the silken strands.

His body prickled with need.

Extraordinary heat coursed within Daenerys like dragon fire danced through her veins, and he was but a moth drawn to her heat and the flame that blazed within her. The unearthly beauty she held did not help his plight; eyes of the purest amethyst, thick, expressive eyebrows with a life of their own, red, plump lips ripe for kissing, and hair that flowed as if the moon itself had melted and bathed her in its silver-white glory.

 _Bastard_ , an insidious voice whispered in his ear. He would do well to remember it, for the world would surely never fail to remind him.

_I am yours, if you feel the same._

Her words stirred and shook him to the core, awakening in him what had died with a maid whose fiery mane burned as hot as her temper.

He _wanted_ Daenerys, had been drawn to her since she dropped her mask and showed him who she truly was as both woman and queen, but he could not have her.

He should not even _want_ her, but still, he yearned.

His people would not allow it. His _family_ even more so for the fate members of House Stark have suffered in the hands of her kin.

He had already bent the knee, and while she deserved and had _earned_ his allegiance, there will be those who would take further offence at him taking her as a lover, if it even stopped at that. Perhaps he was thinking too far ahead but he did not intend to just seek the warmth of her body and her bed. He was simply not that man.

A stain he would be on Daenerys' honour, on her name.

Nose flaring, he shook his head and stared at his own hand, scarred and still fucking _tingling_ , whether due to the past injury or the memory of her touch, he was not certain.

On habit, it flexed, and he inhaled sharply before rising to his feet.

 _Fuck it all_.

If he were to die in the war to come, he would let her know, _show_ her exactly how he felt.

Love it might not be just yet, but if she felt the same, she would agree that it was far more than an itch to be scratched, and later forgotten.

She would know that he, too, was hers to claim; every unworthy fibre of his being, body and soul.

The people of the north will come to see her as he did, and they shall marvel at the woman he saw in this queen, the _mother_ those who follow her saw her as. Even his family. They will come to see the beauty not only in her visage but the beauty within her heart and the strength of her spirit.

She was fire, but he has come to know that ice also ran in her veins, straightened her spine like steel.

He was a Stark through his father and his own brother had legitimised him. That had to count for something, had to make him worthy of her somehow, though it should be more the man he was than any title he bore.

What did it matter?  

Let him be her equal in all but birth, and he would stand by her side.

Resolved, Jon stood and made his way to her stateroom, only a small part of him second-guessing himself now.

 _Love is the death of duty_ , a wise man once told him. A wise, kind man of her blood. If he pursued Daenerys, there was no doubt in his mind that there was honour to be had in gaining her heart; in earning her love.

He had died once already. If he were to die again, let it not be without knowing a truer love than the first he had known.

At the sight of the three-headed dragon adorning her door, he knew it was folly, knew it to be not without consequences, but his heart and mind were set, and it felt right.

Valiantly, he had tried to stop, but it had been too late. He’d found himself almost there, _almost_ , if not already in love with her amidst the chaos and the uncertainty of it all.

_Madness, truly._

War cared for neither life nor flourishing love, only death and one victor.

And never have dragons lain with wolves, but man and woman they still were. 

Never had he been so aflame with desire and yearning.

She was not like everyone else. He had seen the heart of her: kind, gentle, just, _strong_.

Bastards were not meant for queens. Above all, it was simply neither the time nor the place, yet there he stood before her door with the strength and courage to claim something for himself, for once, for he did want her with a strength he was powerless to fight.

There was no use plying his mind with every other way it could all go wrong. The world as they knew it was at an end anyway, if they failed.

With a shuddering sigh, the thunderous drumming of his heart eased back into a steady rhythm; he has decided.

Thrice, he knocked on her door, heart lodged in his throat, and the rush of his blood the only thing he could hear besides the fire dancing on the candles ensconced along the hall.

If she let him in after having walked away earlier that night, he knew there was no turning back, and he didn’t have any intention to do so. Still, hesitant he remained, for even wolves knew they can only ever howl for the moon.

The door opened to reveal her, a vision cast in firelight, orange gleams licking at intricately braided mane and loose tendrils of moon-kissed hair his fingers longed to tuck behind her ear.

 _Ethereal_ , he thought, mesmerized as he stepped inside her quarters and closed the door with a boldness he prayed would last the night, or his lifetime.

Her eyes were the softest shade of lilac, haunting and searching, surprised yet not, somehow.

Swallowing thickly, gaze unfaltering, he hoped to convey that she had him there before her, now, wholly, and that he was not leaving unless she commanded him so.

That he felt the same: equally hers to take.

She regarded him quietly, a curious mixture of trepidation, softness, and anticipation swimming in her eyes. If he were to draw closer to inspect her further, he would see a small amount of playful amusement in them as well, as if she knew he would come though he had initially bolted like a pup with its tail tucked in between its hind legs.

It was Jon who closed the distance between them, taking a step forward to line himself up against her, one hand cupping the side of her face while the other rested over her hip. She leaned into his touch as he laid his lips upon hers, kissing her tenderly, almost tentatively, but with no small amount of passion.

Daenerys breathed him in, mouth parting as a gratified sigh broke free, relief palpable at the sound. Encouraged by it, Jon fixed her between himself and the door he'd just closed, arousal rapidly taking over his senses as her chest pressed against his.

She toyed with the downy curls at his nape before allowing her nails to scratch at his beard, eliciting a light growl from him.

A waterfall of silver softness, her hair parted for his fingers as he ran them through the unbraided locks before cupping the side of her neck to angle her mouth better for his sampling.

Smiling against his lips she pulled away to lean back against the solid wood and drown in his now molten gaze, eyes almost as raven as his hair. They were a deep grey, she has come to observe, taking in his comeliness up close. 

“What is it?” Jon breathed, pecking her upturned lips and nuzzling her nose in a display of tenderness her heart was hardly prepared for.

He prayed not to be asked to leave, to not be denied the honour of having her. Of being hers.

She shook her head, choosing not to speak as she was overwhelmed by his mere presence, by the desire to never part from his lips, from him, ever again.

She's wanted him, desired him for so long that she did not want to waste any more time than they already have. Looking at his parted lips, wet with her own spit she quivered in anticipation, making him grin almost wolfishly when their eyes met.

Already breathless, Jon further denied himself air by uniting their mouths once more, trapping her between him and the door, a hand on her lower back to draw her tighter against him. 

Soft, plump lips brushed his, and then her tongue parted the seam of his mouth to seek his own. He drank from her, taking what she would give and giving himself to her in kind.

They barely parted for air, caught in the overwhelming current of need and desire.

Brow against his lips, she gasped when a hand slid up the side of her body to the ties of her dress, making her shudder when he grazed the curve of her breast. His smile against her skin made her heart bloom and her cunt throb.

He exhaled against her temple before trailing the lightest of kisses down the side of her face to the slender length of her neck. She scratched at his clothed back, moaning as he licked at her pulse and nipped gently at it. The sting he soothed with the flat of his tongue, making her whimper.

Overcome. She was utterly _overcome_ ; the scent of leather and pine needles and _him_ threatened to bowl her over in the most satisfying way. She felt her wetness soak through her small clothes, and she moaned again, her breath husky and needy against the shell of his ear.

As one of his hands stayed her the other started working on unravelling her from the confines of her dress, his control and patience both arousing and frustrating as all she wanted was to feel his bare skin on hers, to feel the contours of his muscular form overpower her.

A guttural growl from him and they parted, making Daenerys let out a breathy laugh at his sudden predicament.

"Let me," she whispered, aiding him in the effort as he knelt down and started unlacing her boots, and then his, a sudden urgency to his actions. They kicked at their boots, the heavy thuds echoing inside the room.

The heady scent of her invaded his senses from where he knelt. It called out for his tongue, and as the top half of her dress slid down to pool at her feet, he pressed his face against her mound, hands grasping at the edges of the last article of clothing that shielded the top half of her body from him.

Daenerys moaned his name, tugging at his hair so that she may relieve him of his own clothing as well. Before he allowed their mouths to meet, he drew her shift up and over her head. The heat of his gaze on her bare skin warmed her, made her crave him all the more.

Lost in the sight of her smooth and creamy skin, her pert breasts, and her dusky pink nipples pebbling, Jon growled, mouth watering.

As his queen busied herself with removing the belt from his leather gambeson, she pushed back from the door and led him backwards to her bed.

Stopping at the foot of it, he cupped a breast and tested its weight in his hand before squeezing gently and fondling the tip. Her breathing accelerated at his touch as she battled with the buckles on his clothing, so he continued his ministrations, another hand running from her back to the slope of her arse.

But Gods, her perfection was unequalled.

All buckles finally unhooked, the layer fell heavily, making her frown at him as she bemoaned, "Why must you wear so many layers?" Still, she worked at unlacing his jerkin before helping him pull it over his head.

Her voice was so husky and thick it tugged at his groin, his stones heavy and cock jerking in its confines. "It's cold in the north, my queen," Jon teased, voice low and accent thick, a soft smile on his lips right before removing his tunic.

"We're not there yet," Daenerys mumbled before taking a moment to take in his battle-scarred chest and torso, her heart fiery with rage at the betrayal each scar stood for. She knew the story, knew the adversities he'd overcome.

Just like her. He was just like her, this man.

He watched as her fingers feathered over the one above his heart, seemingly afraid that touching him there would draw blood.

"Daenerys." Calling her back from where her thoughts have carried her, he held onto her elbows and pulled her against him, skin on skin, upper halves free to touch and feel, to comfort.

A sigh ghosted against his neck and soon her lips were sucking at the spot. Daenerys hummed at the taste of the salt of his skin on her tongue, the musk that was uniquely this man.

His fingers ran along her sides and her back and her nape, blood singing at the suction of her lips over his pulse. Never had he held such beauty in his arms, such softness, such majesty.

He towered over her not by much, but when he dipped his head her mouth slotted perfectly with his, exhaling through his nose as her tongue quickly coaxed his into the warm cave of her mouth, an invitation of her acceptance, of her want of him. More than just warm, she was fire itself, scalding him raw and making him want to burn with her.

Hands slid down her back to her arse, and he lifted and turned, depositing her onto the bed. When he looked down at her he was blown away by the look on her face and her eyes almost a velvety violet, pupils fat with her arousal.

Emboldened, he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed and traversed the clothed expanse of her legs with his hands. Eyes never leaving hers, he tugged at the trousers she wore, pulling and revealing inch by exquisite inch of soft skin to his gaze and his touch.

His breath caught at the sight of her pink cunt, swollen and ripe and ready for his mouth, fingers, and his cock. Thumbing at the trimmed patch of hair on her mound, he exhaled before carelessly dropping her trousers to the floor.

Her touch burned him as a foot ran across his lower torso and he swallowed a groan when it slid down to caress his length, the twitch of it making her smile deviously, a cat's grin making her look positively lethal.

It was all he could take before stripping himself free of all other clothing he still wore, and then dropping to his knees before her, he pulled her arse to the edge of the bed and feasted upon her cunt.

She wasn’t expecting the action and Jon’s chest swelled with pride at her muted shriek of pleasure as he introduced his tongue to her slit, fingers and nails suddenly raking through his hair and nape.

Her nectar blessed him in bountiful waves as his fingers parted her petals and his tongue mercilessly lashed at her clit again and again and again, and he lapped at her flowing wetness like it was the only thing that could sate his thirst.

Magnificent and glowing, her skin awash with a mist of dew, Daenerys thrashed beneath his grip, her hips undulating to receive more.

Her stomach was clenching and unclenching as he burrowed his mouth into her cunt, savouring her. Sweet and rich and salty, her nectar was a flavour his tongue will now always crave.

A barely stifled whimper tore past her lips when he inserted a finger into her and pressed up against the front wall of her channel, rubbing at the ridges within her, driving her mad. Another finger, the wetness of his mouth, and the skill of his tongue, and she was coming violently, fluid leaking from within her depths, and his tongue and lips readily lapped all she gave as she rode the waves of her climax.

Easing her from it he pet her mound, smattering kisses over her hips, the insides of her thighs, and her navel.

Daenerys revelled in the attention, delicious tremors rocking her still.

Rising on her forearms their eyes met over her heaving breasts, and she beckoned him to her with trembling fingers scratching affectionately at his bristly jaw.

Having plans of his own, Jon pressed his lips to her palm before lowering his head to the sensitive skin above her navel, and then kissed his way up her torso. Reaching the underside of a breast, he moved from one to the other and mouthed each hardened peak, the quiet gasps from her lips fueling his efforts the same way the taste and smell and sight of her did.

Sliding a hand behind her he moved them further up the bed until her head rested on a pillow. The moment it did his lips were claimed and his name was moaned into his mouth when insistent hands pulled at his head, and he was driven insane by the way she seemed to savour her own essence as she kissed him.

Soon they grew more fervent, more passionate, and he reciprocated, teeth on flesh and tongue on tongue, giving and taking and surrendering to the whirlwind that was the unknown, the power of whatever this was.

In a quick roll Jon was pushed onto his back, but Daenerys did not straddle him, merely fell off to his side and slung a leg over his, her wet cunt notched against his hip, setting him aflame where he felt her. Their kiss resumed, lips slipping and sliding over one another in a suddenly hurried dance with her leading as though time was not on their side, like this fragile connection they've just found would all but disintegrate into the wind.

Heart pounding in her chest, Daenerys tilted her head to kiss him fiercely, her wolf, the man she never thought she’d find herself wanting. She sighed into his mouth, lust and desire and _need_ evident in the thrum of her heart and the fluttering of her cunt.

With a hand splayed high up her back Jon stroked her gently, his other brushing the side of her face and up her temple until he could stay and anchor her to him, keep her and her thoughts tethered to where they were, what they were doing, what they were starting.

He chased her lips when she seemingly drew back, latching onto her bottom lip and tugging while a hand calmed him by running all over his side and his stomach.

His muscles fluttered wherever she touched, and his cock jerked at the lack of attention.

They had tonight, and whatever days remained until they fought the Night King, but he would have her think of nothing else but him and her, and their budding relationship when they lay abed.

Parting for air Jon pressed his temple against hers, eyes closed he breathed her in and reclaimed her mouth, a rough exhale through his nose caressing her skin as teeth clashed, lips and tongues pushed and pulled and tugged along with the surge of mounting passion.

At the press of her chest and the feel of her warm cunt rubbing against him Jon flipped them over and situated himself better between her thighs. One hand supporting her upper back he cradled the crown of her head reverently and, without thinking, licked at her mouth as he brushed fingers against her neck.

Her mouth parted for him as one hand gripped at his bicep, anchoring herself to him.

Sweat dewed where their skin touched, and he was lost in the heat of her body and the sight of her mussed up beneath him.

She was so ready for him, he could feel it where his cock pressed against her folds, and in the next heartbeat he slid one hand to the back of her knee and spread her further for him as he thrust into her cunt in one long slide, the action driving her up the bed.

Blunted nails dug into his skin and splayed over his back as Daenerys gasped breathlessly, her walls gripping him so tight his eyes screwed shut. He leaned his brow against hers as she rippled deliciously around him, making him quiver at the sensation, and he kissed her hard as he gave her a moment to adjust to his size.

When he pulled away, her eyes slowly opening to look at him with such softness gave him pause. There was a look on her face that spoke of something he daren’t name, a look of such awe and dawning realisation that he wanted to uncover.

She shouldn’t be his, should not be giving herself to him so freely, but there he was above and inside her, their heartbeats drumming but one in rhythm.

It was unreal, touching her now, sweeping her hair with his thumb, melted silver slipping through his calloused hand.

He had no words, could not think of anything to say that could lighten the moment, but the weight of it was already over them like a heavy cloak, so he dipped his head and sought the comfort of her mouth, their lips fitting like she was made for him. She caressed the curve of his jaw as they lost themselves in the act. A small smile blossomed on her lips right before he did, he was certain, but he didn’t care to think more of it, choosing instead to drown himself in the taste and feel of her, the quiet moans and gasps his cock drew from her throat as he resumed pulling out and pushing back inside of her heat, his hips rolling against the cradle of hers like the waves their boat rode against.

Beautiful, her comely king was beautiful. As she looked upon him once more realisation dawned on her- he was the shadow that stalked her dreams. Whose touch she yearned in the silence and darkness of night.

He rode her well, the sharp stab of him rending her cunt a welcome mixture of pleasure and pain that drew the air from her lungs and made her whisper for him to drive into her faster, harder, more.

Jon drew her further up the bed and she hitched her legs up and around his hips, admitting him deeper. A hand on the small of her back he resumed his pace, unyielding in the power of his thrusts, feeling himself swell thicker and harder as he plowed into her depths and fed from her stifled cries of ecstasy.

Red scores bloomed across his back as she raked her nails against his skin while her mouth lavished his jaw and his neck with small bites and kisses and licks of her tongue. Along with her mounting pleasure her voice rose, coming out louder, and he panted as he took one of her pebbled peaks into his mouth, groaning at the taste of her skin and the salt of her sweat and the hardening of her nipple with each pass of his tongue. Small hands pulled him harder against her breast, and hips bucked to receive him yet again, actively encouraging his efforts.

They were damp where they were joined, and he let go of her nipple to watch himself disappear into her, and then drawing himself out with her own essence clinging to his cock. The sight too erotic, he snapped his head back to her for a fevered kiss, a hard jut of his hips along with it making her cry out as he hit the edge of her, the loud slap of flesh against flesh making his ears ring as she panted into his mouth.

Daenerys rasped his name in a quiet cry, fingers finally pulling at the tie that bound his hair. Raven tendrils unraveled, and she enjoyed the softness, smiling drunkenly up at him as her fingers toyed with his curls.

Jon gazed into violet eyes stormy with desire, her beauty never failing to make his heart stop momentarily as he took her in, tousled and positively wrecked.

“Jon,” she said again, nearly a purr that stroked his spine like a sweet caress.

Softly, he kissed her, watching her quiver at the scrape of his beard against her well-abraded skin. She did not seem to mind, latching onto his upper lip before inviting his tongue into her mouth.

“Daenerys,” he groaned, feeling her free hand press and pull at his arse to get him back to work.

One hand reclaiming its place at the small of her back and another on her nape, Jon lifted her slightly and thrust hard, continuing what he had started, restarting a dizzying rhythm that stole her breath and kept her blind and mute to everything but where they were joined and her cresting release. Quaking within his embrace she lifted her head and dug her fingers and nails on his back, her mouth and teeth latching onto his shoulder as she surrendered to the strength of her climax.

With soothing hushes Jon grounded her with his weight. Right before she settled, he drew his upper half from her, aiming to make her come one last before he took his. Fingers joining the fray, he thumbed at her swollen pearl, spreading her wetness as he guided himself back inside her. The sounds of their coupling was intoxicating, the sound of him fucking her and the sounds he made as she purposely squeezed him within her clasp driving her closer to the edge.  

Through half-lidded eyes he watched as she threw her head back against the pillow, writhing in pleasure and pulling at the sheets, her breasts swaying with every stroke of his cock.  With one hard push into the edge of her she came apart before his eyes, wondrous and a sight to behold, her sex fluttering around his cock. He groaned, folding over her with his forearms braced on either side of her.

As her shudders eased her lips found his and they kissed tenderly, overwhelmed by the emotions their union has roused.

When their eyes met, she gave him one last kiss before pulling his face to the space where her neck and shoulder met, rolling her hips up to receive him, wordlessly urging him to finish.

She was wrapped around him, and Jon ground his pelvis against hers, rutting madly against her as she cried her pleasure into the humid room, orgasm finding her one last time as his finally did, the damp curtain of his hair and hers comforting as his body tightened.

Unsteady hands gripped at his arse and pulled him deeper into her with one last thrust, and when he hit the entrance to her womb, buried inside her to the hilt, he groaned, exhaling hotly against her neck as he spilled.

Jon panted as he rocked against her, prolonging their pleasure and recovering from the mind-numbing experience. He kissed her neck, the shell of her ear, everything his mouth could reach with whatever strength he had left.

There was calm silence in the aftermath, their heavy breathing the only sounds to be heard. Jon lifted his head to gaze upon her and was heartened by the soft smile that touched her lips. Returning it, he sought to have it widen with a sweet kiss, and another, and another, until they parted from air and he withdrew from her, his cock slipping out of her and trailing his seed and her essence against her thigh, their mess sticky and abundant. Daenerys moaned quietly at the sensation, relishing in the feel of having been taken so well her cunt throbbed deliciously at the memory.

Jon pulled her against him as he lay on his back, his chest swelling when she settled an ear above his heart, right over the scar that told her the truth in his Hand’s words.

“Don’t let go, Jon,” she whispered softly, as her eyes fluttered shut, the steady rhythm of his heart lulling her to sleep.

“Never,” Jon promised, holding her hand in his as his other drew circles across her back. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, wondering if he should aid her in undoing her braids before she drifted off.

In mere moments her light snores could be heard, and a small smile tugged at his lips at the sound.

He would help her later.

For now, he would let his queen rest.

* * *

When Daenerys opened her eyes, she noticed three things: she did not sleep for too long, a dull ache between her legs that was more pleasurable than painful, and the weight of Jon Snow’s arm wrapped around her from behind.

His snores whispered lightly against her ear, drawing a smile from her lips at the memory of their coupling.

Turning her head to gaze upon his features, no brooding frown pulling it down, she enjoyed the sight of him in her bed, lost in the clutches of sleep.

She nestled close to his face, the scrape of his beard against her cheek now a familiar sensation that comforted her heart.

Soon enough the pull of her braids and the push of the pins on her head demanded she unburden her hair. Begrudgingly, she peeled herself from the solid strength and warmth of Jon’s form and set her feet on the wooden floor.

Damp where he’d spilled earlier that night, a small smile graced her features and she turned back to the man responsible for her current state, heart full and already longing though he lay before her. She admired his form for a quick moment, need slowly growing at the pit of her stomach at the sight of his flaccid cock. If she didn’t have to unbind her hair she would have taken him into her mouth and awaken him like that, but her head was already aching from the cumbersome bun. With a resigned sigh she covered him up with a fur blanket and tucked a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes before getting up and heading to the basin to clean the mess between her legs.

Not allowing her mind to linger on the issue of her heir, Daenerys swiftly cleaned up and sat down on the chair before the small bureau and the looking glass.

 _If his seed took root…_ she shook her head. There was no use sparing a thought on what would not come to pass.

You are barren, Daenerys. You will never hold a child of your blood in your arms.

 _Cursed_.

Briefly she wondered if Jon’s hope could break it, if she could give him a child.

If he would love her less because she wouldn’t be able to.  

With a heavy sigh Daenerys shook her head once more, eyes screwing shut from the pain the thoughts wrought within her.  

Naked as her name day, she ignored the chill in the room and went about removing the pins that kept her braids in place, wincing when she pulled and strands went along, snapping at the roots.

The task long and tedious, she allowed her thoughts to instead drift to the day’s events, recalling the very moment she’d voiced out her desire, her _yearning_ for him.

She flinched at the memory of his escape, the sting of it soothed by the sight of him on the bed reflected in the looking glass.

Her eyes took notice of the marks low on her clavicle and her chest, arousal gripping her yet again. Transfixed, her hand touched the blooming marks, the sight of them enough to make her close her eyes and moan at the memory of how he’d given them, her wolf who’d marked her.

Expelling a heavy breath, Daenerys looked at her reflection, noting the blush high on the apples of her cheeks and the sudden joy that filled her heart shining through her eyes.

She _loved_ him, she knew that now, loved him the moment he returned to her, barely alive, but breathing.

He was in her bed, fast asleep, yet her heart longed to be back in his arms, be wrapped up in him, safe and cherished.

Cold hands cupped the caps of her shoulders and she jumped, turning to see Jon right behind her, naked as she was, a timid smile on his lips as he apologised for startling her. She glared at him momentarily before she was appeased by the pressure of his hands over her shoulders, not quite a massage but relaxing nonetheless.

“Let me help,” Jon offered, echoing her words from earlier, his northern burr a balm to her heart now.  She nodded her consent and watched as he set about the task he has taken on, eyeing his many scars and admiring his sculpted form in the mirror.

Together they unbraided and unpinned her hair until it all fell straight over her shoulders and her back, and Daenerys smiled fondly as she looked at Jon marvel at it. Without prompting he took the hair brush on the bureau and started detangling the knots in her hair until they were tamed.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’ve been doing this for many a lady, Jon Snow,” she teased, looking at him even though her gut churned as she awaited his response.

“I’ve only ever done it for one sister, Your Grace,” Jon grinned, unbothered by the act.

“Dany,” she corrected him in a whisper, eyes downcast before boldly meeting his gaze in the mirror.

The correction made him stop, made him look at her almost dumbly, simply taken aback. It would have been funny had it not meant so much more.

“Only for Arya, Dany,” Jon told her when he’d recovered, a smile blossoming on his handsome face as he resumed brushing her hair.

“Tell me about your siblings,” she requested, closing her eyes at the stroke of the brush and the feel of his hands massaging her scalp as he went, soothing the aches of having her hair pinned up for so long. She must commend Missandei for how well her hair held up throughout her day’s… activities.  

“What are you grinning about?” Jon tutted, smirking.

Ignoring him Daenerys hummed and prompted him to continue about how Arya did not like to be called her proper title. “Her name suits her fine,” Jon said, grinning as though lost in the recollection as she just was.  

He continued on with his stories about the three siblings he had left. Sansa, Arya, and Bran, their names were, and he shared with her freely the good and the bad.

Her heart went out to each sibling, even more so the moment he told her what Ramsay Bolton had done to the older Stark girl, what those entrusted with her care had done, and to Jon himself for having watched his youngest brother shot to the heart when he was so close to hold him in his arms after so long apart.

She let him carry on brushing her hair, noticing how it helped him focus his thoughts on something as he pried the recesses of his mind for whatever joy he’d experienced before he’d taken the Black.

So many misadventures he’d had with them, especially Robb and Theon, but she could tell from his voice a fondness for the wild one, Arya. Not much for Sansa, in childhood, he admitted, as she’d initially eyed him as no more than the half-sibling her father had brought home to break her mother’s heart. She’s changed though, he assured her, not wanting her to feel any different.

He wanted her to like them, it seemed.

Her heart swelled when he told her exactly just that.

“You will like them,” he chuckled, “We’ve all gone through a lot, it’s true. But the siblings I knew are still within, just hardened, like my people.”

He told her how it may take a while to earn their trust as it had his, but once earned it was given in full.

Seeing him in this light, the brotherly side of him, made her fall harder, made her want to know him more than she knew herself.

Not knowing how much time they truly had, her heart already grieved.

“I am truly happy for you,” she told him, taking the brush from his hands and turning on the bench to hold both his hands in hers. “You’ve reclaimed your family’s seat and reunited the north,” she breathed, pulling at him so he may be at her level. “What’s left of your house is back home and you are on your way back to them.”

“I hardly did anything,” Jon mumbled, recalling how his emotions had failed thousands when he chose to attack instead of stick to their strategy. “I am King because there is no one else. I am the spare,” he smiled sadly, and she caressed the scar that ran across his eye, returning the smile though shaking her head at his foolish, stubborn beliefs.

“You’re King because you care for your people, Jon,” she kissed the crown of his head, pressing her brow to his. “Because you _serve_ and protect those the Crown have forgotten and left for dead.”

She paused, took a breath and looked into his eyes, willingly drowning in the inky black pools.

“We will change that, together,” she promised, “We will fight for the Dawn and we will cast Cersei down from her throne and rebuild these kingdoms if we must.”

He looked at her with such hope that her eyes nearly watered from the strength of his belief in her. Would that he could fully see the same emotions he aroused in her, feel that she too had faith in him.

“Let’s go to bed, Dany,” Jon rasped, peppering kisses across her chest and neck before seeking her mouth.

She mourned the loss when he pulled away, drawing her towards the bed as he walked backwards.

Eyes growing dark and hooded, he smiled wolfishly, telling her, “The night is young, and I want you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am easy to persuade. While this can end here, I can definitely reopen the story to more chapters when/if further inspiration strikes me. 
> 
> Holler if you're interested to read more of this journey!

**Author's Note:**

> Please hit me with some love and sugar or even some constructive criticism. If I get enough feedback/encouragement I might extend this a couple of chapters more.


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